Ducks in a Row
by Tallis224
Summary: While dealing with his mother's death and his uncertain relationship with Dr Jordan Hampton, Ducky encounters a past love. Ducky/Jordan, Ducky/Original Character Small "Broken Bird" spoiler. Adult themes and death explored. Reviews welcomed, please!


NCIS/Ducky story

Characters: (NCIS) Dr. Donald (Ducky) Mallard, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Dr. Jordan Hampton, Victoria Mallard (and cameos by the team…)

Original Character:Celeste Porter, PhD

Ducks in a Row

by Tallis224

Cycle One-A: Beginning's a Circle

"_Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other… _

_Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now…" _

_("Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" – Stephen Stills)_

Cold, grey, rainy. Funeral weather. A steady stream of mourners filed in and out of the funeral home, politely extending their condolences, clustering in groups of quiet conversation. As intimately acquainted with death as he was, this was the side he seldom saw, the faces of those left behind. As he extended his hand to yet another acquaintance, he saw his own face reflected in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. He looked pale, drawn, tired, as anyone would after dealing with all the minutiae surrounding a parent's death, even one as well planned for as this.

A grey-haired woman placed a gnarled hand on his arm. "She lived a long, full life, didn't she, Dr. Mallard? How old was she?"

"Just turned ninety-nine, Mrs. Gates."

"Well, I'll always remember her as a lovely woman. And so proud of you! You took such good care of her."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gates."

"Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you."

"Your kindness is certainly appreciated. Thank you for coming." He shook her hand with warmth he didn't really feel. Mrs. Gates moved on to join a gaggle of neighbors from the assisted living facility where Victoria Mallard had lived until Ducky was finally forced to move her to a hospice.

He looked toward the entrance and noticed Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David walk through the archway, still wearing their NCIS jackets.

"Ducky, I'm so sorry." Tony slapped the coroner on his shoulder, pumped his hand. "In all honesty, I never know what to say or do in situations like these – I usually try to avoid them. But for you..." His voice trailed off, sympathy in his eyes.

"Thank you, Anthony. I'm glad you came." It was one of the few sincere things he'd been able to say all evening.

Ziva hugged him awkwardly, planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "I know how important it is to be surrounded by friends and loved ones during a time of mourning. It's very hard being alone." Her eyes said so much more than her words ever could. Ducky gave her another hug, whispered a 'thank you.'

"Coming back from an investigation?" Curiosity got the best of him.

"Well, yeah." DiNozzo rubbed the back of his neck. "No bodies, though. Just leg-work."

"A theft ring at Quanitco," Ziva piped up. "We drove straight here afterwards."

"Ziva drove. I prayed. It worked. We made it in one piece. I think she only broke one tie rod. However, my spine may never be the same."

Ducky chuckled. "I know a good chiropractor. In fact, he's over there, talking to the woman in the fuzzy pink cardigan. Dr. Robin Fitzpatrick. I'll introduce you if you like."

DiNozzo grimaced slightly. "Not just now, Ducky. I really think I'd have a hard time dealing with a guy named Robin manipulating my spinal column. It's the whole mental image of a green cape and tights I'm just not comfortable with." He shuddered.

"Suit yourself, Anthony. He's the best in the Metro area."

"Pass!"

Ducky shrugged, turned toward the door. Jordan Hampton was talking to the funeral director. She'd been a blessing the last few days, helping him arrange to pick up and deliver out of town visitors, seeing to the caterer for the wake. She was amazing.

A few pictures of Victoria Mallard were placed about the room. A picture of her as a little girl. One of her at her debutante ball. Her wedding portrait. One of her holding him as a toddler. His eyes were drawn to a picture of them in a family group in Scotland. He remembered the occasion well – his parents' fortieth wedding anniversary. It was casual, taken by his cousin who was a professional photographer. He wanted a picture of the assembled family. In the midst of cousins, aunts and uncles, Ducky stood next to his mother and father, his hand on the shoulder of a lovely young woman seated on the ground in front of him. Several children romped about her and she was holding a blond boy of about eight months of age who was pointing at Victoria. Victoria smiled radiantly at the little one and Ducky's father was actually smiling as well. It was taken two weeks before his father died.

It was hard to look at. It was like seeing a fragment of dream. So much had been lost. His psyche felt like so many empty rooms, connected by long, grey hallways. All the sorrows of his past were coming together, forming like clouds threatening to unleash a perfect storm of grief.

Jordan continued working the room, greeting newcomers, directing them to the guest book. She was a wonderful woman. They'd been together for a year now. Why couldn't he complete the connection? She was good to him and kind. She understood and shared his profession, knew all the pressures and pitfalls of the job. But he kept putting up the same barriers that he had put up every time a woman got too close…

Timothy McGee and Abby Sciuto had arrived, and as soon as Abby detected he was free, she threw herself at Ducky with a hug that nearly knocked him over. He hugged back as she cooed sympathetically. She was one of the most genuine people he knew and she could always make him feel better.

"Do you need anything, Ducky? Can I help with the dinner or anything?" Abby gripped his arm. She was dressed in a very reserved knee-length black skirt, her usual Goth-style subdued, lips painted a conservative burgundy shade, hair pulled back in a respectable-looking bun.

He hugged her impulsively. She was such a dear girl. "I can't think of anything, but if anything needs doing, Jordan should have a handle on it. Check with her."

"Sure." She gave Ducky a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back!"

McGee gave reserved but sincere condolences. Ducky could tell the young agent felt awkward and uncomfortable in this setting. Timothy was the type that was more comfortable around computers and trying to find pieces to the puzzle of a case so that the team could put them together. But he was also a very keen observer of people. Ducky had no doubt he would file away the experience and some part of it would appear later in one of his writings.

As Abby walked off in Jordan's direction, Ducky's assistant Jimmy Palmer joined him. "Doctor, I'm so sorry. I really loved your mother."

"As I recall, every time she met you she hit you with her cane first and asked questions later."

Palmer smiled a crooked smile. "True. But she did it with love!"

It was a much needed laugh. Jimmy once again proved to be an able and valuable assistant.

"Hey, Duck. I'm so sorry about your loss." Ducky turned around to be folded into an embrace by his friend and boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"I'm glad you're here, Jethro. I really appreciate it." It was good to have the people he cared about here. It made it so much easier somehow. Chief mourners go through the motions, see faces, give acknowledgments, listen to endless stories about the deceased that seem irrelevant. Eventually they settle into a numbness that could last for years. Like last time he was chief mourner…

"You okay, Duck?" Gibbs' look of concern brought Ducky up short.

"A little overwhelmed is all, Jethro."

"Well, you look like hell."

"I feel that way, too."

"Why not sit down for awhile?" Gibbs led him to a wing chair. Ducky sank down gratefully.

"This isn't funeral protocol, Jethro."

"Yeah, well screw that. I'm not having you pass out standing on protocol. This isn't the parade grounds."

Abby rushed over, Jordan at her heels. "Ducky! Are you all right?"

"Donnie, when was the last time you had something to eat?" Jordan's admonishment reminded him that the only thing he'd eaten that day was half a bagel and a cup of coffee. "Let me find you something." She seemed content taking charge. "Abby, could you bring him a glass of water, please?"

"Sure, Dr. Hampton."

Abby returned with a glass of ice water and Jordan produced several incredibly stale Oreo cookies on a chipped plate.

"Not many amenities in the kitchen, unfortunately," Jordan apologized. "The funeral director said that he keeps a few cookies on hand for fussy children." She ruffled Ducky's hair affectionately. "Makes me wonder what we have here."

"I can't thank you enough for everything you've done the last few days, Jordan." He bit into a cookie.

"This is too much for one person to handle alone. I told you I'd be glad to help. That's what I'm here to do."

Ducky nodded, took a sip of water to help the cookie go down. Instead, it wedged itself halfway down his throat.

He stopped coughing in time to notice a woman enter the parlor through the front door. She wore a tan raincoat which she unbuttoned to reveal a gauze skirt in shades of brown, elaborately embroidered in subtle earth tones. Her shirt was a simple brown scoop neck tee. Her hair was brown with copper highlights, short and softly wavy. She wore bronze framed glasses. A gold chain around her neck held three charms – a heart-shaped locket, a gold ring and a simple gold cross. She was neither young nor old, perhaps in her early fifties. She caught sight of Ducky and a smile transformed her face into one of timeless beauty.

Somehow she made sense of the midnight call, found her way from Baltimore to Reston on the Beltway on a weekday and she was there. He suddenly felt as though a light had come on – a small, warm and welcome light.

He didn't remember getting up and crossing the room. He just found her in his arms, holding her tight, so very glad she was there. He whispered into her hair "Celeste." She still smelled of jasmine…

Ducky looked into her brown eyes, brushed a stray strand of her hair back into place. "I'm so glad you…" He couldn't finish.

"Where else would I be? You sounded so awful the other night…Are you all right?" She hugged him again, neither one especially anxious to break away.

"No." It was almost a sigh, only for her to hear.

She held him close a moment longer, then broke away, eyes glistening. She searched his face. Something wordless, rooted deep in understanding, passed between them.

She slipped her hand into his. "At least we can talk about it now."

"Thirty years too late."

"We were human. We were young. Mistakes were made that can't be unmade. All we can do is start over under the face of forgiveness."

"Which poem is that from?"

"I haven't written it yet. I hope I remember the line. It was damn good, wasn't it?"

His hand traveled to the small of her back, their foreheads pressed together. "Oh, yes. Damn good indeed." God he missed her. After all this time he still missed her.

Then he noticed six faces turned in their direction, conveying varying degrees of curiosity, surprise and displeasure. "Umm, Celeste…do you mind if I make a few introductions?"

"Of course not." She flashed the dazzling smile again. Her hand was still in his and he held it firmly as they approached the group from NCIS.

"Celeste, I'd like you to meet my co-workers. Celeste, this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. Jethro, I'd like you to meet Celeste Porter."

Gibbs took Celeste's outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"I'm pleased to meet you too, Special Agent Gibbs. Ducky speaks so highly of you."

Gibbs looked at her intently. "You two have known each other for – how long?"

"We met in 1970. In London when I was a student. He hasn't mentioned me to you?" She looked momentarily confused. "He's certainly mentioned you to me."

"Oh, he's mentioned you. Once or twice." Gibbs smiled his most disarming half-smile.

Ducky felt suddenly protective. He remembered they had discussed her once, many years ago after a few too many drinks. Gibbs was now assessing her, the situation, the relationship. He was never far from being in interrogation mode. Celeste was perfectly capable of standing up to Jethro's scrutiny, however. And she didn't need to explain herself.

"Excuse us, Jethro." Time to continue the introductions. "Celeste, this is Agent Timothy McGee. He's a writer, too. Of potboiler crime novels."

"I know. You sent me the books. Thom E. Gemcity. Great pseudonym, by the way, Agent McGee." Celeste shook his hand.

"Thank you." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Wait. You're not Celeste Porter the poet?"

"Guilty as charged." She winced slightly.

"Oh man! You wrote 'The Cycle of Seven'! Those are the most incredibly beautiful and erotic poems written in the last 50 years."

Celeste looked uncomfortable but resigned. "Thank you." A little pink blushed her cheeks. "And now is when you tell me that because of them you are no longer a virgin…"

Surprise clouded McGee's face. "Well…"

"I've been told they're real mood-setters…"

McGee's turn to blush. "They're beautiful, though…I mean, you won the National Poetry Association prize for them, didn't you?"

"Yes. In 1988. I've written lots of other stuff – really GOOD stuff, even better than 'Cycle' since then. But most of it isn't about sex, so no one wants it. So, I live the quiet life of an academic these days. That's where 'acclaimed' poets go to eat…"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just surprised to meet you. And that Ducky knows you."

Ducky chuckled. "He thinks I hang around with dead bodies and have no social life."

With the ice effectively broken, Abby inserted herself into the conversation. "No, that's Jimmy. You have a minimal social life, thanks to Dr Hampton. Hi! I'm Abby. I haven't read your poems, but I'm about to. Can I borrow your book, Timmy?"

Tony extended his hand. "After I'm through with it, Sciuto. Uh, I don't know much about poetry Ms Porter, but I really think I'd like your work. Nice to meet you. I'm Tony DiNozzo."

"I'm Ziva David. Pay no attention to him. His mind is in the cutter."

Tony sighed. "I think you mean 'gutter,' Ziva. And no, it's not. I just feel the need for some cultural enrichment."

Ducky tugged Celeste gently away from the combatants. "They do this all the time. May I introduce my assistant, Jimmy Palmer?"

"Nice to meet you Ms Porter. And what McGee said…"

Celeste held up her hand. "I understand. Say no more. Thank you, Jimmy."

Ducky directed her away from his assistant. "And I especially want you to meet Dr. Jordan Hampton. If it weren't for Jordan, I don't know how I'd have made it through the last few days."

Celeste extended her hand. Jordan took it slowly, assessing the other woman thoroughly.

"I've read your work. It's quite – inspired."

Celeste glanced at Ducky. "Thank you."

"I must confess, though, Donnie hasn't mentioned you at all. How long have you known each other?"

"Almost 40 years. I was eighteen. You were what? Thirty?"

"I was just back from my first tour with the Army Medical Corps and doing civilian duty until I was called up again. Emergency room, St. Margaret Mercy hospital. I was twenty-eight, I think," Ducky replied.

"No. Twelve years and two weeks difference in our ages. Double dragons, remember? Thirty!"

"Oh, the Chinese astrological chart. Said we were 'eccentric and our lives were complicated." Then he noticed the look on Jordan's face. "Very complicated…"

Celeste looked at the younger woman who was still glaring. "Oh my, oh my. This is complicated all right." It was then she and Ducky simultaneously noticed they were still holding hands. They broke apart as if they had scalded each other.

Jordan's lips were set in a thin line, her arms tightly crossed as she stared down the other woman. "The picture. The anniversary picture. You're in it." It was almost an accusation.

"That was taken in 1976, Dr. Hampton." Celeste glanced at Ducky.

"Because Celeste and I were married at the time, Jordan."

Jordan gasped. Jimmy produced a whispered "Whoa!" and questions flew from the eyes of everyone but Gibbs.

"Dr Hampton, Donnie and I have had thirty years to make peace with each other. And it's taken just about that long to work things through. If you'd like to discuss some matters of concern privately, I'd be more than happy to do so." Celeste crossed her arms also.

"Ooooh! Cat fight!" Tony whispered to McGee. From nowhere came a slap across the back of his head.

Jordan didn't reply. She looked at Ducky, clearly hurt. He'd been too slow revealing things to her. Between talking things through after he was assaulted, a heavy caseload at work and dealing with his mother's declining health there was little time to talk about things so far in the past. He'd dropped the ball on this, should have told her about Celeste.

Jordan abruptly turned away and walked toward the kitchen.

"Jordan, wait!" He followed her. "We have to talk."

The kitchen door closed behind them. She turned abruptly, facing him. "Not now, Donnie. There's too much else going on to have a discussion of what you should have told me when. When the dust settles, when you've worked a little more of the grief out, then we'll talk. But not now."

"Can I at least apologize?"

Jordan was close to tears. "You aren't even sure what you're apologizing for. You know I'm hurt and you're sorry you hurt me, but you have no idea why."

"Well, then, why?"

"Not because you didn't tell me you'd been married once. I guessed you must have been at some point. That's a logical assumption. You're not a man to live in a vacuum, you are tender and passionate. I've had failed relationships, a failed marriage, too. You know that. It's," she sighed, "you're still very obviously in love with her."

Ducky was brought up short by that. "It's been over for a very long time, Jordan."

"Oh, Donnie. It's never been over. You and I have been together for almost a year and not once have you ever looked at me the way you just looked at her."

"I think you might be reading a bit more into it than there was. We've kept in touch over the years, yes. I communicate with Celeste fairly often. Usually by phone or e-mail. I haven't seen her in quite some time. Since before the assault."

"Does she know about that?"

"I told her." Frankly, he hadn't told Celeste too much about it. The time he'd spent in Afghanistan was right after the divorce. He was looking for something to fill the emptiness. He took risks he didn't want Celeste to know he'd taken because – she wouldn't understand? No, because she'd be furious he'd taken so many chances. And, as it turned out, one of them came back to haunt him. He had to face yet another consequence of a bad decision and it literally stabbed him in the hand.

"I chose you to help me work it out, Jordan." He embraced her and she leaned into him. "Because I needed you. And I need you now. I really do." He held her gently, felt her relax. He kissed her hair, her cheek, her lips, held the kiss for a wonderfully long time…

The door flew open. Abby entered with the empty cookie plate and water glass. "Uh. Hi! Don't mean to interrupt. Was just bringing in the dirty dishes. Sorry." She set them on the counter and trotted out the door.

"Well, that will be all over NCIS in about 30 seconds." Ducky kissed Jordan on the forehead. "We'd best go out and attempt a bit of damage control."

When they re-entered the main parlor, eyes were avoiding looking directly at them. Except for Gibbs and Celeste, and both looked mildly amused.

Gibbs clearly wanted a word. He led Ducky to a quiet corner. "Ya know, Duck, I didn't really think you were a player."

"I'm not!"

"Trust me, Duck. You've got an ex-wife and a girlfriend in the same room. You are definitely a player." Gibbs shook his head. "Good luck with that…"

Ducky watched Gibbs walk away. A player? Ha! Those days were over long ago. B.C. Before Celeste…

He found her at his elbow. "I've paid my respects to Victoria. She was a force with which to be reckoned and after years of being at odds, she and I finally reached an understanding, I'm glad to say. . Again, I'm so sorry, Donnie." She hugged him – the scent of jasmine. "I'm staying in town tonight and I'll be at the service tomorrow. Gibbs was kind enough to offer to pick me up and chauffer me to the church since I have no idea where it is."

"Well, that was very nice of him."

"Wasn't it?" She flashed a lopsided grin. "I won't make the interrogation inordinately difficult for him. Should be rather interesting to find out what he wants to know."

Celeste hugged him, rubbed a spot on his cheek with her thumb. "Hmmm. Not Abby's color. Ziva's not wearing lipstick. Certainly not mine. Too pinky. I tend to go with the earthy tones." She looked amused. "I'm staying at the Marriott. See you tomorrow." She looked him straight in the eye. "Have a good night."

He felt as he often felt after his encounters with Celeste – a bit out of breath. He watched her leave and suddenly felt empty again. When he got home he was going to have to revisit his handwritten copy of "Cycle of Seven." "Presented with great fanfare by the author to her muse," the dedication page read. He wondered if she still remembered… In all honesty, he'd love to find out if she did…

He knew he'd be spending his night alone.

Cycle One-B: You Say Good-bye

"…_And it gets harder as you get older,_

_Farther away as you get closer…" _

_("See the Changes" – Stephen Stills)_

He awoke to the telephone ringing. The house phone, not the cell, thankfully. Not work. Not today.

"Hello?" Verbalizing served to remind him that he was terribly hung-over.

"Donnie?" It was Jordan. "I'm on my way over. Are you ready?"

"What time is it?"

"Eight thirty. You have to be at the funeral home at ten. The service starts at eleven." A pause. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I've just overslept. I have to shower. See you when you get here." He hung up abruptly.

After spending the night sorting through memories and the better part of a bottle of Scotch, Ducky was thankful that at least he'd managed to stumble to bed. He peeled off his crumpled, slept-in clothes as he made his way to the bathroom. He showered and shaved quickly and was just buttoning his shirt when the doorbell rang.

"Coming!" But before he reached the door, Jordan had let herself in. She was wearing a conservative black pinstripe suit and white blouse, her hair pulled back and gathered at the neck in a silver barrette.

"Donnie? Are you all right? You look terrible!"

"A bad night. Let me finish dressing. Is there time for coffee? I haven't had any and could really use some."

"We have about half an hour. I'll see what I can do."

He went back into the bedroom to finish dressing, grabbed his shoes and suit coat and walked into the dining room in time to see Jordan starting to clear the table. She shuffled through the yellowed loose-leaf papers, looking unsure about what to do.

"Where should I…"

"DO NOT TOUCH THOSE!"

Jordan dropped them back onto the table and several sheets slid to the floor. "I'm sorry!"

"Let me take care of that!" He snapped.

She was taken aback. "Fine. I'll check on the coffee." She retreated to the kitchen.

Ducky gathered up the scattered pages and began putting them back in order.

"…_your finger traces the line_

_of my jaw, rests on lips for me_

_to kiss…" _

caught his eye. Cycle One A: Discovery. A completely accurate re-telling of their first night together. Right down to the yellow roses and sandalwood incense. He sighed and carefully placed the pages back into the book, then put the book back in its box, finally putting it on the bookshelf.

_God, Celeste, I wish everything was so innocent and uncomplicated now_.

Jordan came back into the dining room carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee, a plate of buttered toast and a jar of orange marmalade. "We should probably have something to eat before we go over." She was subdued.

"Good idea. That was very thoughtful. Thank you." He picked up one of the mugs, took a sip. "I'm sorry I sounded so harsh, Jordan. I haven't been at my best these last few days and it's wrong to take it out on you."

She smiled, placed her hand over his. "I understand. It's like riding a rollercoaster. That's how it was when my mother died, too. I hardly knew if I was coming or going and I was expected to make all these rational decisions. When all I wanted to do was cry and cry like a little girl."

"Thank you, Jordan. Thank you so much for being here." He lifted her hand to his lips. She smiled so beautifully…

She said all the right things in all the right ways. What was wrong?

The clouds were breaking up as Ducky and Jordan arrived at the church, an old grey stone edifice with red doors, as was the style of many Episcopal churches in the United States. There were a surprising number of people there – his colleagues from many years past, as well many old friends of Victoria's. Ducky was shown to the front pew where Jordan sat beside him. Directly behind were Abby, McGee, DiNozzo, Ziva, Jimmy and Gibbs, who sat next to a subdued Celeste. She briefly made eye contact as he sat down in front of her, flashed a tiny, encouraging smile, twisting a tissue in her hand. Had she been crying? He couldn't tell. She had always been quite good at hiding tears.

The service began with several of Victoria's favorite hymns. He noticed Celeste helping Gibbs follow the Order of Service and heard her sing, her voice still pure and strong, as it was in the days of the jam sessions with the folk group she used to sing with in college.

There were readings from scripture by Father Jenkins. On cue, Ducky managed to make it to the lectern and open the folder containing his eulogy to his mother. A deep breath. Eye contact with the assembled congregation.

"Victoria McCracken Mallard was a remarkable woman." His voice cracked. "She lived a life…" The room lurched. He felt his knees buckling. Instantly, Celeste was there. She led him to the chair on the altar, next to Father Jenkins, returned to the lectern and began reading the eulogy as if she had rehearsed it, never faltered or stumbled.

She glanced at him as she finished. He stood and returned to his seat next to Jordan under his own power and Celeste followed to the pew behind. Father Jenkins delivered the homily, a few more hymns were sung, the benediction was delivered and the service ended.

He followed the casket outside to the hearse for the drive to the cemetery and the internment. Mourners filed out behind him, approached to offer condolences as Jordan held his arm and led him to the limousine. In the blur, he saw Gibbs escorting Celeste in a similar manner, toward Gibbs' car. There was something wrong here. Too many emotions running madly around with nowhere to go. He realized he was on autopilot and had no idea how to disengage. Jordan helped him into the car.

"Donnie?" Her concern was evident.

He managed a weak smile. "I don't know how much is left of me, Jordan. I feel so…small…" She gathered him into her arms.

By the time they reached the cemetery, the clouds had gathered again and the smell of rain was in the air. Father Jenkins commended the body to the earth; a bagpiper played "Amazing Grace."

_Was that the sum of Mother's life?_ Raindrops pelted the canopy as the internment concluded.

"EAT!" Abby plunked a plate of food onto the table in front of Ducky. After returning to the church for the luncheon, he found himself once again on autopilot. He thanked people for coming, for their kind words, all the while feeling numb. His headache was almost blinding and he just wanted everything to be over.

Abby handed him a fork. "You have to eat or you'll pass out for real and we'll have to call the EMT's and how embarrassing would that be?"

"Abs, leave the man alone." Gibbs sat down next to him.

Celeste was with him. "Jethro has been taking very good care of me, Donnie. I'll just get some tea and let you two talk."

"You asked her to call you Jethro?"

"Why not? We're not on an investigation. She doesn't work for the Agency. She's a nice lady, Duck. Smart, funny. And pretty. Very pretty. Must have been a knockout when you two met."

"In more ways than one, Jethro. She's not like anyone I've met before or since."

"I'd have to agree."

Ducky felt a vague discomfort. "Are you developing designs, Jethro? I don't want to sound jealous, but you really aren't her type."

"What? I'm not a doctor? Or a musician? Or a thirty-two year old computer science professor?"

"That musician was a brute. They were married ten years with Celeste making at least that many trips to the ER. The last time he nearly killed her."

Gibbs nodded. "She told me. Went to trial. Bastards like that should be prosecuted. Took a lot of guts on her part to stand up to that son-of-a-bitch in court."

"I know. It was hell for her." Ducky rubbed his temples, tried to erase the image of her bruised face, her shattered hand the night she finally called him.

"The computer professor was something of a fling for her," he said at last. "They lived together for two years before she called it off. He was a bit too irresponsible for her liking. She said she always felt a bit like his maid."

"You know a lot about her, given you've been divorced for thirty years."

Ducky felt a prickle of defensiveness. "We've stayed in touch."

Gibbs glanced toward Celeste who was chatting with McGee. "Yeah. And if you want my opinion, Duck, I have no idea why in the hell you gave up on her."

_Because I gave up on me. Because there was no reason to believe._ "Well, why don't you ask her, Jethro?" Ducky snapped. "You've obviously found out quite a bit in a short time. She's a rather forthcoming person. I'm sure she will be happy to answer that for you."

"She wouldn't. She said she had no business telling me – that it was up to you."

Ducky picked up his fork, started poking the scalloped potatoes. "Maybe it's not your business at all."

"You're right, Duck. It probably isn't." Gibbs stood up.

Ducky had seen this tactic too often to fall for it. He stuck a forkful of potatoes in his mouth and waited for Gibbs to leave.

"What's wrong?" Celeste sat down in the vacated chair, concern on her face. "You hate scalloped potatoes."

"Gibbs interrogated you."

"Well, yes. We've spent a good part of the day together. We talked quite a bit."

"**You **talked quite a bit. Gibbs doesn't 'talk quite a bit.'"

"True. But he does get the information he wants. Usually."

She didn't crack completely. Not surprising. "And then there's you. The irresistible force to an immovable object."

"You jealous, Ducky?" She grinned. "Well, well, well! Gibbs _is_ absolutely gorgeous. But looks aren't everything. He's a little too military/industrial complex for my taste. I can see why he's such a good friend to you, though. And why he is so good at what he does. Lighten up, Sweets. There's more than enough to bring you down today without having to worry your pretty head about a potential romance for me. Let me assure you…it's NOT going to happen."

"Are you all right with Jordan and me? I don't want you to be uncomfortable…"

"I'm not. If I got 'uncomfortable' about all your liaisons, I'd be out of my mind by now. Besides, you get kind of numb after the first two…"

That was a bit too close. "Touché my dear."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's just so much water now…we did what we did back then. It's done."

"By the way, I really must thank you for stepping up when I nearly crashed this morning."

"Well, you know how we pastors' kids are. We've seen just about anything that can happen during a church service. We know what to do. I am kind of glad you didn't throw up, though. I hate when that happens!"

He had to smile at that. "Are you driving back to Baltimore tonight?"

"Yes. I asked my neighbor to look in on the cats, but I don't want to take advantage. I told her I'd be back tonight."

"Cats. Of course. Frodo and Sam?"

"No. Those were the two we had when we were married. As you well know. You never remember the names of the ones I've had since. Currently it's Tucker and Esme."

She adored cats. She'd had them almost continuously since she was five. To be honest, Ducky enjoyed their company, too. And they were much lower maintenance than dogs. Back in the day, they would play with the cats and –

He rubbed his temples again. _ Stop, stop, stop! Too many bad paths taking you too many bad places. Stop thinking!_

"Donnie?" He felt Celeste place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to go home now?"

"Yes. I think I do."

"I'll tell Jordan."

Jordan was beginning to gather up the personal pictures brought over from the funeral home. She had several framed pictures in her arms and reached over to take the final one off the display table when the frame from the top of the pile fell to the floor. Glass shattered and the frame flew apart. The photo of the anniversary party slid across the floor to Ducky's feet, as did the photo that was concealed underneath it. Before Ducky could rescue the pictures, Jordan picked them up. Looking at the hidden photo, she slowly raised her hand to her mouth, looked from Celeste to Ducky and back again. Then she set the photos on the table and abruptly left the church hall.

Ducky had reframed the anniversary picture some years before by placing it over another photo – a photo of himself and Celeste on Nantucket on their first wedding anniversary. When Celeste was six months pregnant.

Cycle One C: Moments Only

"_Stand by the stairway,_

_You'll see something_

_Certain to tell you confusion has its cost…" _

_("Helplessly Hoping" – Stephen Stills)_

By the time Ducky and Celeste got to the parking lot, Jordan was pulling out of the parking space in her car and driving away.

"Damn!" He'd done the wrong thing again – jeopardized his relationship with yet another woman by not being as forthright as he might be.

Ducky stopped short, Celeste behind him.

"What did you do to her this time?" Celeste was incredulous.

He showed her the Nantucket photograph he had retrieved from the floor. The light dawned on her face.

"God, Ducky! Why do you do this all the time? Shut out the people who care? It's going to take a lot more than flowers and sweet-talk to mend this. You'd better plan on a long and honest talk with her. Tell her about Andrew, the divorce, all of it. About saving me from Arthur, too, if you want. Get it all out on the table. You have to if you want to save what you have…" Celeste's eyes flashed, her mouth, a taut line.

"Don't come here and try to tell my how to run my relationships, Celeste! It's none of your business for one thing and for another there is no reason on God's green earth that you should even care."

Ducky watched the anger go out of her, replaced by a sad and tender light. "But I do care, Donnie. I'm always going to care."

"Why do you want me to go after Jordan? What difference would it make to you?"

"Not to me, silly Duck. To you. It's time for Ducky to be happy. Make up to her. Be happy. That's a good thing."

He looked again at the picture of Nantucket. _There is only one period of my life when I was entirely happy._ He looked at the girl in the picture. He stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her, his hand on her rounded belly. Joy radiated from that picture, it was palpable, a moment frozen. He remembered exactly how he felt then, realized that he might be able to feel that way again if she would let him. If only Celeste would let him…

_No! _

"Here." He shoved the photos at her. "I've got to get home. Maybe Jordan went back there. Maybe Jethro can drive me."

She looked at the pictures, sighed. "Sure. Someone can probably take me back to get my car."

Ducky pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number, waited. "She's not answering!" He slammed it shut.

"Give her time. I know she'll listen to you eventually."

_Time? I've wasted enough of it!_ "Damn it, Celeste! How much time do you think I've got? I've been messing up lives for over thirty years and I'm mighty damn tired of it! I should just let her go. I should just let it all go…"

She reached over, placed her palm against his cheek, looked into his eyes. "No. You shouldn't. If you do, you'll never know…"

_If I __**don't,**__ I'll never know._ He folded her to himself.

The kiss was soft, gentle, unhurried. It smelled of jasmine, felt like home. They held it a long time, held each other even longer.

Celeste sighed. "Well, Doctor Mallard, if ever two people could take a complex situation and make it into a complete morass, it would be us…"

"I'm tempted to agree, Doctor Porter. But right now thinking just hurts. I'd rather just stand here like this. As long as possible." He kissed her again.

She broke away. "This is not good, Donnie. We are NOT ready for this!"

"You said the same thing in London right after we met."

"And I was right!"

"And I listened. I didn't sleep with you until two years later, and I married you two years after that. Hardly a speedy courtship."

"And plenty of extenuating circumstances. And this is not about whether or not you should sleep with me or give me time to grow up. Seriously, Donnie. I'm not up to being the 'other woman.' Jordan deserves more than your indecision. You have to have a very clear idea of what you want and make a choice based on what's best for –"

He placed a finger on her lips. "You are assuming there is some type of logic at play here, Celeste. There isn't. In your presence I cease being a logical individual. That was the first effect you had on me and it continues to this day."

She smiled at that. "You are very confused, you know."

"Yes, I do know." _Know that I don't want to let you go—that this moment is the closest I'll ever have to getting you back._

"I really can't help you, since I'm a major contributor to the Donald Mallard Confusion Fund. In all honesty, I really wish you hadn't kissed me. Not today and not like that."

"Why?"

"Because what you've left me with are the contents remaining in Pandora's Box after she opened it. And that's not fair. I don't want to hold on to hope. Do you really think we can play to that after all these years? I just want to let go…" She sighed but didn't pull away.

"Hope is the phoenix," he whispered into her hair.

"Only if the ashes aren't blown away."

She often covered her confusion with humor or bravado, but she wasn't now and he didn't know if he was comforted or disturbed by her openness. He realized that they were somehow in the same emotional space. She was right. This was not a good place to be. They could slide down a very slippery slope and end up where they were thirty years ago. Or he could opt for Pandora's hope…

_I still love you Celeste…_

They stood together several moments more. Celeste finally broke the silence. "We should track down some transportation. I don't know if the hotel is on the way to your place or not, but if Jethro could drive me there, then take you to your place…"

They walked toward the building only to notice most of the NCIS team huddled around someone's camera phone.

"I don't know about you, but doesn't anyone find it vaguely creepy when older people use that much tongue?" DiNozzo squinted at the tiny image on the screen.

"Uh, Tony?" Ziva looked up, red-faced.

Abby grabbed the phone. "Well, I thought it was kind of sweet and where IS that delete button?"

"Anthony! How could you do such a thing?" Ducky was shocked.

"Uh, Gibbs told me to look for you two. Palmer and McGee were already out here – shooting." Pink colored DiNozzo's cheeks.

"I was showing Palmer how to use the camera function on his new iPhone. He asked for my help!" McGee stated in his own defense.

Celeste, on the other hand, was doubled over with laughter.

"Celeste!"

"Think of the utter absurdity of this, Donnie! It's hysterical in a grim sort of way…"

Suddenly Gibbs appeared and head slapped DiNozzo, McGee, Ziva and Palmer. "Dump 'em!"

"Done!" Abby chimed.

"Good! Now everyone, just get out of here, please." Gibbs turned his attention to Ducky and Celeste. "You two. With me."

Cycle One D: Truth Be Told

"…_we never failed to fail,_

_it was the easiest thing to do…" _

_("Southern Cross" – Stephen Stills, Richard Curtis and Michael Curtis)_

Despite Ducky's protests that he needed to go home and see if Jordan was there, Gibbs drove them to a nice tavern near Celeste's hotel.

Drinks were delivered. "Okay. Anyone mind telling me what the hell is going on here? I'm a little confused and would like to know why Dr. Mallard is starting to behave like a 'love the one your with' asshole." Gibbs began.

"This is not your business, Jethro!" Ducky was angry.

"Gibbs, go easy. He's not in the best of places right now. Nor am I for that matter."

"Yeah, well it seems like he's jerking your chain, Celeste. It's not his style and I don't get it."

"There are a lot of things at play here that you don't understand, Jethro." Celeste stirred her iced tea with the straw, looking thoughtful.

"Then fill me in, Dr. Porter."

She looked at Ducky who sat sullenly, waiting for her to start. She turned her attention back to Gibbs. "Understandably, both of us are carrying a lot of mutual emotional baggage. I think Victoria's death has been something of a flashpoint – we're being forced to analyze our relationship to her, to each other – to realize that there are loose ends and jagged feelings still at play that we have tried to bury in the past. They've been suppressed due to circumstance or necessity which has ultimately resulted in our relative success in dealing with each other. But right now all the governors have been turned off and we're coasting right into that big black hole that we really haven't addressed."

"Good analysis, Dr. Porter. Very objective. I can see how you might have found each other attractive back in the day." Gibbs smiled.

"I'm a college professor. Critical thinking and analysis is part of the job."

"Critical over-thinker…" Ducky muttered.

"I heard that! We're just approaching critical mass, I suspect, aren't we, Doctor Mallard?" She grinned at the pun. "Getting to the heart of the matter? I think that Jethro wants to know what happened to us, Donnie. You've barely mentioned me to him before today. Why you haven't told him the whole story I don't understand."

"I have my reasons."

Celeste sighed and pulled the photographs from her handbag. "Both you and I are observers of human nature, Jethro, but we use our observations in vastly different ways. Look at these pictures and tell me what you see and what conclusions you draw." She gave him the photo of the anniversary party first.

Ducky was grudgingly impressed by how she was handling Gibbs.

Gibbs nodded. "This is the fortieth anniversary picture. You were both younger. I know you're an only child, Ducky, so these other folks are what – aunts, uncles, cousins, their kids? Nice family group. You really resemble your father."

"Physically," Ducky and Celeste said in unison.

"You're holding a baby, Celeste. The baby seems more interested in Victoria."

A small smile crossed her face. "She spent every waking moment spoiling him, that's why."

She handed Gibbs the Nantucket photo, but he was a step ahead.

"It's your child." He looked at the other photo then. "My God, you have a child?"

Ducky looked directly at Gibbs. "We HAD a child, Jethro. His name was Andrew. He was eight months old in that group photo." He reached into his pocket for his wallet, fished out a dog-eared photo of a happy family of three taken some time later. Andrew had grown, was obviously walking. "He was two in this photo. It was our Christmas card that year."

"I didn't know you still carried that!" Her voice caught. Celeste pulled out her own wallet. It contained the same picture. Their eyes locked. Ducky's hand found hers, their fingers twined together.

Gibbs sat quietly, thoughtful. "What happened?"

Celeste answered. "He ran into the street and was hit by a car. He had just turned three." She looked profoundly sad. "I couldn't stop him."

"And I couldn't save him. I was right there and I couldn't save him. Head trauma…" Ducky rubbed his temples to ease away the image.

"You always have to be Doctor. Analyze. Give the dry, cold facts. I wish you could just be 'Daddy' when discussing our son." There was no anger. Just a very tired sadness in her voice.

"An accident," Gibbs stated.

Celeste replied softly. "Yes."

Ducky sat with eyes downcast, still holding Celeste's hand. "We spent a long time blaming ourselves for his death."

"A very long time. But it WAS an accident. I accepted that eventually. I had to. But it was too late to save –" She pointed back and forth between herself and Ducky, "— us."

Gibbs scrutinized the two of them. "Perhaps one of you still hasn't forgiven himself?"

"Perhaps." Ducky sighed.

"It takes time," Gibbs said.

"Thirty years?" Ducky shook his head.

Celeste squeezed his hand. "There are other factors holding you back. It's too easy for you to hide all your unresolved issues in the cellar. Problem is, the monster just keeps growing and every time something else happens it gets bigger and bigger."

She knew him so well. Even though she didn't know all of his demons by name, she knew how he dealt with them. He tried so hard to keep her out. Even though he never let her see him cry, she still knew. That was why they couldn't stay together.

"You've always been too forgiving, Celeste."

"It's just easier than holding on to the hurt." She thought for a moment. "'cause it's easier to try than to prove it can't be done'" she sang. "Moody Blues…'Blue World'…it just seemed to fit somehow…"

"…and it's easier to stay than to turn around and run…" Ducky replied.

"Exactly!" She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You do what you have to do. You can't always avoid hurting the other person, but you can at least be honest enough to let them know where you stand." It was a gentle admonishment. "You really need to talk to Jordan."

"I have to agree with the lady," said Gibbs. "You two really surprise me, though. You almost speak in code – and you can both quote the Moody's. Well, I'd expect it of Celeste, but you Ducky?"

"Ask him about the Still Small Voices and the old Gibson he used to have sometime, Jethro…" Celeste smiled. "Gentlemen, I really must return to Baltimore. Please take him home, Jethro. My car is right across the street. I think I can manage." She gathered herself up as she always had and breezed away before anything else could be said.

"She recovers quickly." Gibbs watched her leave.

"Seems to…"

"'Still Small Voices?' Gibson? A guitar? What's that about?"

"We, well, she – before we were married, when she was in college…she sang in a singing group. I'd sit in sometimes. That's all…"

"You play guitar?"

"Dabble. I played piano as a boy, too. Didn't you take music lessons?"

"Hell, no. I was the kid that you piano practicers envied, playing baseball, football, all that stuff while you were stuck inside." Gibbs grinned.

He grew serious again. "Why didn't you want to tell me about Celeste? And Andrew, for God's sake. Did you think I wouldn't understand that?"

"I knew you would, of course, given what you've been through. But that's precisely why I couldn't. Why compound our personal hells by sharing the gory details? Not that Celeste would agree. Did you happen to tell her about Shannon and Kelly?"

"No."

"Just know, Jethro, that I _do_ understand what it's like to lose a child. And to lose the love of your life, not to draw too fine a point." Celeste _was_ the love of his life. He finally admitted it…

"You, at least, have a chance to make it up to her. I can't get Shannon back. But you can get Celeste back."

"At least Shannon knew you loved her. You didn't behave like a bloody idiot. You didn't cheat on her, lie to her, ignore her, have her face the cold pit of grief alone."

"Shannon didn't have to. Who's to say if things had been different I wouldn't have done the things you did? Neither of us are saints, Duck."

"No." Ducky sipped his Scotch in silence.

"You know, Duck, I think you and Celeste are a lot alike. And that the differences are complimentary."

Ducky just looked at him over the top of his glasses. "Too many differences, Jethro. Not so many similarities as you might think." He fished out his cell phone. He had to try Jordan one more time…No answer.

"Ducky, I'm probably sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong – but you're my friend and you're going through a rough time right now. Women are great complicators and at this moment, you don't need the drama. But you have to face the fact that choices are going to be forced on you and you won't want to make them.

"Most guys would envy you – two beautiful women interested in you. And if you compare them on their merits –tough choice! Both intelligent, very nice, easy on the eyes. Jordan is cool, objective, logical. Damn good at what she does. Celeste is full of life, funny, a survivor without a victim mentality. No small achievement."

"I know. When I first met Celeste I thought she was sheltered and fragile. That she needed someone more worldly and mature to look after her. After things began unraveling I thought – when I bothered to come out of my self-imposed isolation – that she'd collapse. But she didn't. She rose above. She soared. Because I _wasn't_ there. She went to graduate school and got her PhD in English lit. Published a best-selling book of poetry, of all things. Her one misstep, and it was a big one, was marrying that bastard of a violinist."

"She rose above that, too."

"I had to help her pull out of that. God, Jethro, it was horrific. What led her to that relationship was what hadn't been resolved about Andrew's death. And growing up with her father. And me. What I did."

"Something else you haven't forgiven yourself for?"

"I really don't know, Jethro. It's easy to think that I have when I'm around her. But it could just be because she has forgiven me so thoroughly that I'm basking in the glow of her forgiveness."

"Well, it's pretty amazing she's still single given the way she can knock guys like you and me on their asses. Did I mention you were an idiot to let her go?"

"Yes." Ducky gave Gibbs an appraising stare. "And she's **not** interested, Jethro. Says you're a little too military/industrial complex for her liking."

"You two were talking about me?"

"Just making sure the bases were covered." Ducky gave Gibbs a crooked grin.

Jethro nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "Fair enough. In the meantime, what are you planning to do about Jordan?"

Ducky sighed. "I wish to God I knew, Jethro. She doesn't deserve to be treated the way I've been treating her these past few days – Talk frankly with her, I suppose, as Celeste suggests."

"Celeste is a very wise lady."

"She has historically had the very annoying habit of usually being right."

"I can see how that might bug you a bit." Gibbs smiled. "But what about now, Duck? How do you feel about Jordan? Do you love her?"

"I don't know. I love so many of the things she does. She is thoughtful, kind and seems to understand so much. She certainly understands the life we lead, the career pressures. We can talk about cases at the dinner table if we want without making each other squirm. Hard to do with most of our friends."

"Oh, I can understand that…" Gibbs nodded.

"But it's new. Barely tested and floating into uncharted waters. When I met Jordan I was struck by her competence and intelligence. And by the fact that underneath it all she seemed a bit fragile – seeking something, someone to provide – I don't know. The only word that comes to mind is 'solace' and I'm not sure that's what I want to say. But I don't know where it's going, our relationship. It's a bit intimidating, I suppose."

"And what about Celeste? Is that intimidating?"

Ducky looked pensive. "I really hadn't considered that."

But now that he had, it wasn't. If anything it was comforting. And a bit exciting. Best not to share that thought right now. His mind drifted to the memory of the afternoon's kiss. Celeste had kissed him back, thoroughly, completely. She participated willingly and with every fiber of herself. It was the most real thing Ducky had experienced on that very surreal day, something he had needed desperately. But that should hardly be his focus right now…

"Would you mind dropping me off at home now, Jethro? I'd like to see if Jordan is there."

"Sure." Gibbs threw a tip down on the table. "Let's go."

Ducky tried the cell again. Right to Jordan's voice mail. Damn! Now who was being shut out?

When he arrived home Jordan wasn't there, but he could tell she had been there recently. The dogs were fed, the dishwasher was running quietly in the kitchen and a note had been left on the dining room table:

"Donnie,

"I will call you when I'm ready to hear what you have to say. I would like to receive a complete story, not fragments and anecdotes. I suppose that is expecting a lot.

"To say that I am hurt is an understatement. I am confused and upset and feel badly used. If you cannot be forthright with me, we will have to end this which is something I really do not wish to do.

"I'm willing to give you the benefit of being somewhat emotionally fragile at this moment, given the circumstances. But to withhold the fact that you have a child somewhere with a woman that you still clearly adore…I don't know how to react. I may have to force the issue and make you choose, but I really do not wish to do that. What I want you to do is bury the past and look toward the future, but I know I cannot force that upon you either.

"So I must leave you a note because I can't talk to you right now. And I must try to sort through emotion that I was just becoming comfortable with; decide what is worth keeping, worth fighting for and what should be let go.

"Know that I love you, Donnie.

"Jordan"

What would he do now? Jordan said she loved him. He cared for her but he was still so unsure. She was right, though. It was time to put the past behind him and look toward the future. He wasn't a young man any longer and he couldn't expect a new relationship to feel like it would have forty years ago. Jordan and he understood the same things. They shared a career. They thought along the same lines about most things, reached conclusions in the same way…they had so much in common. They appeared to be a perfect match in every way.

Almost every way…

Cycle One E: Conversations on a Cold Road

"_We have been trying_

_Trying to find you _

_There's no use denying_

_Our love is behind you…." _

_("Into the Darkness" – Graham Nash)_

Ducky woke up abruptly, in the dark and disoriented. He had to be in his bedroom, but something didn't feel right. In a surge of panic he thought he was back in Serbia, had spent a horrible day performing autopsies on a dozen children…

No, he was home. He fumbled for his glasses, read the numbers on his alarm clock telling him it was 2:45AM. The house was too quiet. He reached for the lamp, snapped the switch. Nothing happened. Odd…

A bright light outlined the bedroom door. What in the world was out in the hallway? He got up, slid into his robe and slippers and went to the door. He touched it, but it was neither hot nor cold. He put his ear to the door, but heard nothing unusual. The doorknob turned easily in his hand and he pulled the door open to step into a large autopsy room.

_Well, this must be a dream…_

A voice he knew better than any other said, "Well, you'll probably remember it that way."

"Mother?"

Victoria was standing next to a table as if she had been there all along. She resembled the fortieth anniversary picture, was even wearing the same green dress.

"Well, who would you expect your subconscious to drag up right now? Mister Toad? Although you always liked that book."

"Wind in the Willows?"

"Yes. That one. I thought it was silly, but what did I know? It got you interested in reading at least. Although you still got into your fair share of scrapes. And you were forever bringing in dead animal parts and putting them in the icebox. Mrs. Donnelly did not appreciate finding that badger wrapped in a tea towel on the kitchen table."

"Well, it had just been hit by a car. It was dead and it hadn't had time to attract a lot of –"

"I'm not interested in the particulars of decay, Donald. Think about where part of me is right now and you'll understand why this discussion takes on a whole new aspect of distastefulness."

_All right. This is getting very strange…._

"Mother, what are you doing here exactly? I'm not sure what this is supposed to mean…if it's a dream or something else." A part of his consciousness was beginning to wonder if he was dying or dead or having some kind of out-of-body experience.

"I'm here to bring resolution. At least I think so. I want you to know that I'm all right. But I want you to know that you'll be all right, too. I wasn't very good at that, especially at the end, Donald, and I regret it."

"You have nothing to regret, Mother. I understand…"

Victoria sighed. "I should have been more – what is that current buzzword? Accessible, that's it! I should have been more accessible to you."

"You were always accessible, Mother. You could always be counted upon, relied upon. You helped me through some of my darkest moments…"

"But not the darkest. Even SHE couldn't help you through that. God knows she tried, but it was her darkest time, too. And you – you did nothing but find fault and run to other women. That girl loved you with every fiber of her being and you walled her out…" Victoria's voice caught.

"Like Father walled you out…"

Victoria looked surprised. "I never knew you realized that. We tried to keep it civil."

"You did. But I knew that there was no love, even when I was quite small."

"I'm sorry you had to see that. Feel that."

"I thought it was the norm – that THAT was how it was to be married. It seemed that way with a lot of my friends, too. And then came Celeste…"

"I could not understand why you would risk everything to follow that child to America and pursue her for four years. But all of us do things we shouldn't do because we don't want to let go of hope. It makes us human, I suppose."

"Human. The deeper meaning of humanity. If you figure out that equation, please let me know."

"I'm sure I won't be allowed to share it. I haven't been here long, but I'm getting a sense of the place."

"Where is 'here' exactly?"

Victoria smiled. "It's where you're not. I'm not sure I can explain it any better. I've seen a lot of people who have come here before me, but it's not time for you to come yet, Donald. So don't start looking for a way in…"

"Father?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him yet. And I get the feeling he isn't here. Which opens other avenues of thought on crossing over, I suppose."

Abruptly the room changed to a different room…the living room of the house he and Celeste shared when they lived in Ann Arbor. Only it was larger, airier, filled with sunlight…

"Daddy? Why is Mommy crying?"

Ducky gasped and looked down into the face of his son. Andrew's earnest hazel eyes bored into his, expecting an answer.

"Andrew!" He reached down to touch the boy's face.

"No, Daddy! Don't touch! You can't stay here so you can't touch!" Andrew took a small step back. "Gumma will hug me later. Gumma's hugs are nice. She was happy to see me." He gave Ducky a little smile. "I wasn't here very long and she came. I was playing with Frodo and Sam."

"Don't you want me to stay here with you?"

"Not yet! Gumma will stay and she can play with me. You have to make Mommy stop crying."

"Where is Mommy? Where is she crying?"

"She's over there." Andrew pointed to the edge of the room, a blur of dark and fog.

"You can see her?"

"She's here too, but she doesn't see me. She saw me once, though, when the Bad Man hurt her. But she had to leave."

"Am I hurt? Is that why I'm seeing you?" Now he was worried he might have had some kind of silent health issue and he was approaching death.

"You hurt inside. That's why you can see me."

This was too strange. His son, his beautiful son was speaking to him in much the same way they had spoken when they went on walks to the woods, when they dug for toads, looked for tadpoles – slid down the muddy path to the creek bank. Celeste never complained about the mud…

"Mommy likes the smell of mud and of you and of me…"

What an extraordinary thing for him to say! "How do you know that, Andrew?"

"She wrote it down."

Celeste HAD written it down. It was somewhere in "Cycle."

"She writes down a lot of things. She writes down her tears."

The passage of time had dimmed Ducky's memories of just how remarkable his son was. Andrew started walking at eight months. He started talking around that time, too. Ducky had often been astounded by Andrew's perceptiveness. He suspected there was a great deal of his mother in him, that Andrew chose his words with as much care as Celeste wrote hers, each a brushstroke to a complete picture. To see his boy now, so perfect and unchanged…Like the accident had never happened…

"I didn't mean for you to be hurt, son. I'm so sorry I couldn't fix…couldn't bring you…keep you safe…"

"It's all right, Daddy. I'm here now. I'm supposed to be here to wait for you and Mommy…"

"I love you so much, Andrew."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

Then the tears came. Ducky let them go, let them fall, let them flood his memory, wash the hurt places clean.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, son?"

"They said you can hug me and that you don't have to stay if you do. But if you want to stay you can."

Ducky dropped to his knees. Andrew ran into his embrace. He held his son, stroked the soft blond hair, rocked his little boy in his arms. Andrew touched his father's tear-streaked face. "Don't cry, Daddy. It's all right now."

"I know it is, Andrew. I know it is."

Andrew smiled. "You're going to go back, aren't you? You don't want to stay here now."

"No, Andrew. I don't belong here now. You and Gumma will do just fine until I come back."

"You know, Donald, I didn't care for 'Gumma' as a nickname for Grandmother." Victoria had reappeared. "I always spoke respectfully to my elders, and you were taught to do so as well. 'Grandmama' was acceptable for my generation. You used the term also. But nowadays…" Victoria shook her head, a slight smile on her lips, "I can't get enough of being called 'Gumma!'"

"Daddy? Will you go back and see Mommy? Will you say that I'm all right? She's sad sometimes and wonders."

"Of course I'll tell her. It will make her very happy."

"And, Daddy? Don't let her go…you need to hold her so you won't be sad." Andrew walked to the edge of the room and into the foggy perimeter. "The phone is ringing Daddy." The boy disappeared.

"Andrew?"

"He'll be fine, Donald." Victoria watched her son reach toward the swirling greyness. "I understand why he wants to see you and Celeste back together. You're his parents, after all, and that's what every child dreams. But let me give you my opinion. I would say that if it were up to me, Jordan would be the one I'd choose for you. She is absolutely perfect. Calm, focused. Everything you need to be content. Celeste has many fine qualities and I must say I was appalled by the way you treated her after Andrew died. For once in your life you did something exactly like your father would do…"

"I'm sorry for that…"

"I know that, dear. And so does Celeste. She made peace with that long ago. Even before I did, I think. But that's ancient history. Celeste is headstrong and flighty. She makes poor choices concerning those she associates with. She is still a little girl in some ways and you don't need to be saddled with a woman/child. Remain friends, but I really think it's best that you leave it at that."

"Last word on the matter, Mother? You would choose Jordan for me?"

"Yes."

"I see. I will take it under consideration, then. But what about my own decision? The choice I'd make?"

"You're still looking for answers, Donald, and they're hard to find. I can try to guide you, but my sphere of influence has been shockingly small in your life. If you want the answer, your telephone is ringing…" Victoria's voice faded.

Suddenly the light came up brighter and brighter all around him. Then he was plunged into darkness just as abruptly. His eyes snapped open. He was lying in bed, under the covers in his own bedroom, the alarm clock glowing 3:05AM. He had his glasses on. He was wearing his robe, his slippers still on his feet.

The house phone was ringing.

"Hello?"

The voice was a whisper, raspy with tears. "Donnie? Is everything all right?" It was the still, small voice that made the tumblers start clicking into place.

"I'm fine. Everything is fine. Are _you_ all right?"

"Yes. Thank God you're there. I just dreamed of Andrew…"

Cycle One F: Caution, Wind and All of That…

"_Tomorrow is more than another day,_

_It's the beginning of what you started yesterday."_

_("Tomorrow is Another Day" – Stephen Stills)_

The sun was just up over the eastern horizon when Ducky pulled his Morgan into driveway of Celeste's home just outside Baltimore. She lived in a neat little brick bungalow with white trim and baskets of flowers hanging from the front porch. Her red PT Cruiser was in the carport and he coasted in behind it, turned off his engine, then sat, waiting, not sure what to do.

Celeste came out the side door of the house, carrying two travel mugs. She looked tired, wore no makeup, a faded blue hoodie sweatshirt, blue and grey plaid flannel pants and old sneakers. He suspected he didn't look much better in his frayed camel-colored cardigan, open collared green golf shirt and wrinkled tan slacks.

She leaned against his car, looked down at him sitting in the driver's seat.

"I'll never get used to English cars. Right hand driver's seats. Weird." Celeste's voice sounded like he felt – a tangle of exhaustion. She handed a mug through the open window.

He took a sip. The coffee was warm and just slightly sweet – the way he liked it. "Demarara sugar?"

She smiled. "Sometimes you just get used to things and you like having them around the house…"

He opened the door, got out and immediately scooped her into an embrace. They stood together wordlessly for a very long time, just holding each other.

Celeste broke the silence. "Is it good to see each other or are we just trying to keep each other upright?"

"Bit of both I suspect." He took her hand "There's so much to talk about…Shall we go indoors?" He tugged her hand and she fell into step next to him, her arm slipping around his waist, his around hers. And it was just right. Just so right.

Ducky held the door open as Celeste entered. He followed her through the kitchen and into a bright, airy living room, walls covered with bookshelves crammed helter skelter with books. Warm trim and doors matched the wood in the mission style and arts-and-crafts furniture. Celeste had put her heart and soul into this place. It felt exactly like her.

"So. This is Chez Celeste. Very nice. Very you."

Two cats came in to greet them.

"May I introduce Tucker and Esme. She's the grey one and Tucker's the tabby. They don't really care that you're here. They're more interested in whether or not I'll feed them."

"Of course they are." Esme sauntered up to Ducky and rubbed his ankles. Tucker sat and looked at him for a few moments and walked away.

"Something I said?" Ducky asked.

"No. Just Tucker being Tucker. I love him but he has the attention span of a gnat. Would you like something to eat? I've got some fruit and cheese and a relatively fresh baguette."

"Sounds lovely."

She went back to the kitchen and Ducky settled down on the very comfortable, slightly frayed and fur –covered sofa. Music was playing on the stereo… one of Crosby, Still and Nash's more rock tinged songs:

"_Boy, don't stand there /in the shadows/Let her know that you care about/ what she knows…"_ Stephen Stills rocked out.

Celeste came back in with a full tray and a couple of plates.

"Still the Rocker Chick I hear." He took the proffered plate and she sat down beside him, setting the food on the coffee table.

"Can't help it. Daddy hated it, so of course the sibs and I blasted it all the time. It was a wonderful, passive/aggressive bit of teen rebellion. I just got to where I really liked it. Right now the stereo is streaming my i-Pod which is on shuffle. You're going to hear all kinds of eclectic stuff that is the music of my life. Elton John, Crosby, Stills & Nash, the Beatles, Sting, Bryan Adams, even a little bit of Debussy. A dash of Bach. I think I even downloaded some Philip Glass."

"Good Lord! Can you skip that over if it comes on?"

"Yes. No opera, though…" She grinned at him, brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

Even in disarray she was beautiful.

"So," said Celeste kicking off her shoes revealing a bright pair of tie-dyed socks as she curled herself onto the sofa. "Talk to me. You say you saw Andrew and Victoria and you weren't sure it was a dream. I know you talk to the dead, Ducky, but I didn't expect you to go all 'Sixth Sense' on me!"

"Thank you. That sounds exactly like something DiNozzo would say. The dead I talk to NEVER talk back. I have to provide answers and talking to them helps me frame the proper questions in the proper way. This was very different and quite outside the normal realm. The only other person I've ever seen in this way was Caitlin Todd. And that was very briefly, so briefly that I considered it almost a bout of wishful thinking –"

"Maybe it was."

"No. Nor was what I experienced earlier this morning. It was framed in a surreal reality. Andrew and Mother had something they wanted to say to me."

"Which was?"

"That they are all right. And that we will be all right. Without them. And with each other. At least that's how Andrew seemed to feel."

"And your mother didn't. No surprise there. I don't think she actually disliked me, but I'm not sure she ever really liked me, either."

"Mother said quite clearly that she would choose Jordan for me if it were up to her to make the choice."

Celeste folded her arms. "Which only served to confuse you more."

"No. It actually began clarifying things. Which is why we're here now. So I can explain and you can refute if need be."

He went on to describe the incident in detail, leaving out nothing. "I was quite curious as to whether you could see Andrew or the room we were in. I never got the chance to ask Andrew as he left so suddenly. But he seemed to go in your direction."

"But you couldn't actually see me?"

"No."

Celeste looked thoughtful. "When Arthur nearly killed me I remember seeing Andrew. Andrew said that I had to stay here because there was something I had to do. He didn't say what. When I saw him this morning and I tried to hug him, he said that I couldn't – that I had to hug you instead. By doing so, it would be the same as hugging him. And that it would make Daddy stop hurting inside. Then I wouldn't have to write my tears." Celeste sighed, her eyes glistening. "He somehow thinks I'm supposed to heal you." She rubbed her eyes. "He understood so much. I always thought he was an Old Soul that somehow came to us for one last chance at life." She sighed. "We gave him life as long as he needed it because he came to pass on his gifts. To us!"

Ducky leaned back against the sofa, looking pensive. "He's not gone. Not as long as we have him with us, in our memories, in our hearts, we haven't really lost him. I understand now." He quirked a rueful smile. "This old fool finally gets it."

"You aren't old. And you're certainly no fool. But I'm glad you understand now." Celeste leaned over, put her arms around Ducky, and they sat in silence for a long time, her head on his shoulder.

"This is how it should be, you know. Us. Again."

"You're sure about that, Dr Mallard?"

"Reasonably so, yes."

"And you'll tell Jordan?"

"As soon as she'll hear me out."

"Oh, Ducky. It's a lot to think about. I hate being 'the Other Woman.' And I wonder if it isn't just a combination of grief and opportunity that is making us turn to each other now. It could be just wishful thinking –"

Ducky touched her lips with his finger, forcing silence. "Maybe you're over-thinking, Celeste. You have a tendency to do that." He drew her closer. "What does your heart say?"

"_Of fast/ running rivers/of choice and chance/And time stops here/on the delta/while they dance…" _David Crosby's exquisite tenor voice lifted the achingly beautiful words of "Delta" over them.

She squirmed uncomfortably, looked at the floor, sighed a small sigh. Then resolve took over and she looked him in the eyes, her mouth in a tiny smile. "That…I will love you. For the rest of my life."

His finger lifted a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. "Very…good…answer."

Their lips found each other. The kiss started slowly, warmly, then suddenly deepened, caught fire. Lips explored familiar territory as if it were new again – the hollow of a throat, the lobe of an ear. Hands found their way beneath shirts and buttons, belts and zippers, and the rediscoveries were electric with remembrance. As things intensified, Ducky was grateful that over the years Celeste seemed to have remembered every button to push…and he couldn't believe how much he _wanted_ her to push them.

"I think it's time to take this to another venue." Celeste helped him to his feet, led him to the bedroom.

"Part of my brain is saying this is crazy," Ducky gasped as Celeste pulled his shirt over his head. "The rest of my brain isn't thinking at all…"

"Now who's over-thinking?"

He kissed her again, slipped his hand under her shirt, slid it to the small of her back, then lower. Celeste gasped, whirled him around so he was backed up against the bed.

"That's right, Donnie. Play dirty."

"I thought that was the objective…"

"Very funny. Though I'm very impressed by your memory after thirty years…"

"You're unforgettable, Celeste…"

"Well, not everyone gets a second chance at a first time," Celeste whispered, pushing him down onto the bed, kissing him hard.

He lifted her shirt over her head, unhooked her bra with one hand, tossed both garments into a pile on the floor. "Oh, I think I'm up for it." He rolled on top of her.

"Well! I'd have to say you are, Doctor Mallard," she agreed as she helped him shed the rest of his clothes.

The stereo started playing "Nights in White Satin." by the Moody Blues. "We both know that song is sex set to music."

"Or music set to sex." Ducky traced his finger down her throat to her breasts, then slowly, lightly traced lower. Her shudder was one of unbridled pleasure. "Haven't we done this before? To this particular song?" he asked.

"Oh, yes! The night you proposed to me. Are people usually naked when they're proposed to, I wonder…?" Her further reminiscences were stopped by a deep kiss and a gentle tickling on a particular spot on the back of her neck causing her to squirm with delight.

"Oh. I found the turn-on button," Ducky whispered into her ear.

"You know, you haven't forgotten a flaming thing, Mallard!" she gasped.

"How could I ever forget how to love you, Celeste? I have always loved you." And everything clicked to reset. They gave in to the pleasure and passion. Rose and fell like waves with music washing over them.

But the reality wrapping them in their moment was the fact that they were truly making love. And that was what had been missing for so long. So very, very long…

Cycle One G: Interlude Domestica

"…_You place the flowers_

_in the vase that you bought today…."_

_("Our House" – Graham Nash)_

Sun streamed through the window onto the foot of the bed. A tabby cat stretched out on the floor across the length of another patch of light. The sun's intensity told Ducky it was just past noon. As he began waking up more completely, he realized he and Celeste were still tangled together, Celeste on her side, head on his shoulder, arm draped across his chest. This was the best of all possible ways to wake up.

Celeste opened her eyes, smiled. They lay naked in a bundle of bedclothes, clothing strewn all around the bedroom. "Damn. We're back to trashing beds again, Ducky."

"At least we didn't break it this time…" They looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably at the memory.

"It wouldn't have been so bad if the bed hadn't been your great-grandmother's antique…" Celeste giggled. "You weren't supposed to be in it, you know. It was MY room – the guest room at your parents' house." She dissolved into laughter again.

"Believe me, that bed saw more action than a cheap hotel room. Whoever said the Victorians were repressed wasn't getting the whole picture. Great-grandmother Mallard had eleven children. You and I were just the final straws, as it were." Ducky smiled, kissed Celeste and pulled her on top of him. "Did we leave off somewhere? Or should we just start over?"

"I _love_ do-overs!" Celeste purred. "Let's do _this!_" Ducky spent quite a bit of time following, then giving in completely to her lead.

When he awoke the second time, the sun was slanting orange and casting long shadows. He'd slept most of the day away. Celeste was gone, but he had been covered by a quilt – the only covering left on the bed. He felt rested, relaxed, finally at peace and at least ten years younger. His clothes were nowhere to be seen, but on the chair was a pair of sweatpants and a Johns Hopkins University sweatshirt. With no alternatives, he put them on.

The smell of garlic, lemon and ginger wafted in from the kitchen and he realized he was absolutely ravenous. He wandered into the kitchen to see Celeste putting a pot of potatoes on the stove. She smiled when she saw him.

Ducky returned it. "Please tell me you're making your lemon chicken."

"I'm making my lemon chicken."

"One more of the million reasons to love you." He hugged her. "Are these" he indicated the clothes, "yours?"

"The shirt is. The pants are left over from Christopher's tenure. Sorry if they're a bit baggy, but he was somewhat taller than you…"

"Bigger round the waist, too." He adjusted the drawstring again. "Where _are_ my things, anyway?"

"In the dryer."

"Ah. Thank you."

"All part of the service. Next time you come for an overnight, pack a bag, will you? Otherwise I'll flash back to my days as a cougar and start calling you 'Christopher' in the throes of passion and that just wouldn't be politic."

"No it wouldn't! And this wasn't an overnight, technically. I got here just after seven this morning. It's been, what?" He glanced at the kitchen clock. "Ten hours?"

"A memorable workday, hmmm?" Celeste picked up a colander full of green beans. "Speaking of work, how about working for your supper and trimming these for me?" She handed Ducky the beans and guided him to the sink. "Want an apron?"

"No. A chef's knife would be nice, though."

"In the block to your right…"

He put the beans on a cutting board and started trimming them. "Knife is a bit dull. Have you got a whetstone?"

Celeste shrugged. "I don't know. Somewhere. Maybe."

"You should take better care of your equipment, Celeste. You know, you can tell whether or not a knife wound was made by a sharp or dull knife just by the pattern it leaves at the point of entry?"

"Cheez Whiz, Donnie, I really need to know that!" She rolled her eyes. "Thankfully, you're a better chef than I am, which is why you care about the condition of my knives, I suppose. I'm a cook at best. I've mastered exactly four dishes in my life if you don't count Jell-o…lemon chicken, lemon cream cake, coconut chocolate chip cookies and Scotch oatmeal – thanks to you, by the way…"

"You have always proven to be an apt pupil…" He grinned wickedly. He finished his task with a flourish. "Beans are ready for blanching!"

"Very good, Doctor! Would you mind going out to the herb garden and bringing in some fresh dill? Just the leaves, please? And I'm going to need some help picking out some wine. I'm still a Philistine about that."

She opened a cupboard door, revealing an assortment of dusty bottles, standing upright. Ducky was appalled. "That's not how you should store it!" He started checking the labels, noting that it was mostly inexpensive domestic vintage.

"I haven't had time to dig the wine cellar!" The stubborn pout was suddenly familiar. "Not a priority. My house. My rules. Follow them and I'll let you play here." Celeste crossed her arms.

He had to disarm before she had a chance to entrench. "You've already let me play here." He smiled, kissed her on the cheek and went back to the bottle collection, finally selecting a halfway decent bottle of California chardonnay. "Where did you get all this, anyway? Bargain bin at the liquor store?"

"Holiday gifts from colleagues, mostly. Nice touch with the cheek-kiss, by the way. I'm willing to back off."

"I can't get away with much under your scrutiny. I never have been able to…my charm just ceases to impress you."

"I just have a very finely tuned bullshit meter. And I use you as the gage by which to measure all others…"

"Do I deserve this?"

"Probably not." She kissed him full on the mouth. "Now. Go collect the dill." She handed him a pair of scissors.

It felt nice falling into the old pattern of doing what he was told. As he carefully trimmed the feathery leaf fronds from the dill plants in her herb garden, Celeste came out and began cutting some flowers – sunflowers, marigolds, larkspur, baby's breath.

"Is this enough?" He held up the bunch of dill.

"Plenty, thanks!" She smiled as he joined her. He snipped off a sprig of baby's breath and put it behind her ear.

"Beautiful!"

"Thank you! And for once, I really feel that way." They melted together, stayed in the kiss for a very long time.

How could he have lived this long without her? "God, I love you!"

"I love you!" she replied. "But if I think about how much, I'm afraid I'll cry and who wants…?"

"Over thinking again, Celeste."

"One of us has to." She bit her lip, took his free hand and started toward the door. "I suspect you're pushing things back again. Holding things in. Looking at me as a distraction."

"Not at all!" How could he tell her that she was starting to put him together again? That he never wanted to be without her in his life – that he had no intention of wasting another moment with doubt or anger or fear or grief? The trials of the past brought him to this house in Baltimore, to this overgrown late summer garden, full circle to Celeste.

"Then just tell me," she said. "Tell me what you feel."

And he did. They talked over dinner, honestly and freely. Painful truths, hopes, fears. Both of them spoke with candor that they had never expressed to each other before. All came forward over a simple meal, prepared together, prepared with love.

Later they sat together on Celeste's comfy couch, finishing the last of the wine. "I have one last confession. It's not a bad thing, but I think it will help me put things into perspective. Perhaps give me a clue as to where to go from here." Ducky set his wine glass on the coffee table, gathered Celeste closer.

"All right. I'm listening."

"It's about how Mother died. She was in hospice care for the last three months of her life."

Celeste nodded.

Ducky took a breath, gathered his thoughts. "There wasn't much left of her at that point. She was unresponsive most of the time. When she was awake, she was disoriented. About two weeks ago, she no longer recognized me. She would call to her parents, carry on conversations with people long dead. It was very hard to take.

"Early last week she stopped eating. She wasn't interested in food at all. When she refused water, I knew it was a matter of days. Part of the hospice arrangement is no extraordinary means. People pass with a minimum of intubation, medication is as needed for pain. It is designed to allow loved ones to pass with dignity and in a warm, home-like, loving environment. I was allowed to stay in the room with her for as long as I wished. I was there for two days. Death came quietly as I held her hand. I see its aftermath every day. But it is never easy to watch it come…"

They sat in silence. It was all that was necessary. There were really no words that could carry away the grief. It was enough that they were finally to carry it together.

Ducky finally spoke again. "I called you first, Celeste. Before I rang Jordan, or Jethro or made any other arrangements. I called you first."

She turned slightly to look at him, brushed his hair back from his face. "I know you did, Donnie. Don't ask me how I know, but I knew that the moment I heard your voice." She snuggled closer. "I guess you decided and didn't even know you had."

He kissed her gently. "You are the love of my life, Celeste."

"Good thing. Because you're the love of mine." There were tears on her cheeks but he couldn't tell if they were hers or his.

And it really didn't matter. They sat in comfortable silence, tabby cat stretched across the back of the couch, grey cat sharing their laps, purring.

Crosby, Stills and Nash played softly on the stereo…

"_They are one person  
They are two alone  
They are three together  
They are for each other."_

It was the beginning. Again.

_On the bedroom dresser, a muted cell phone vibrated, its blue screen flashing the caller's identity:_

"_Jordan Hampton."_

End: Cycle One

~ 43 ~


End file.
